Stand by me As I Fall
by FlightFireBolt
Summary: Castiel Novak from District 12 as well as Dean Winchester from District 1 get drafted into the infamous Hunger Games. An unlikely and more than profound bond forms between them as the Games start, but what will happen once it's left to the two of them to decide the next Victor, if they even survive that far?
1. Prologue

**A/N: hello, my friends. Yeah, I'm doing a Supernatural/Hunger Games crossover. Yay, Fanfiction Green Eyes and Angel Boy falling for each other during a gruesome bloodbath between kids who can't even drink yet for the entertainment of the apparently generous Capitol! In other news, I finally got to reading that Twist and Shout (I Can Dig Elvis) fic, and it's the most adorable thing I've ever read. But then again, I'm only on chapter 2 part 1, so it'll probably take a pretty bad turn, huh? No spoilers, please. Don't be that jerk.****Warnings: killing ((obviously)), language, graphic violence, slash AKA manly guy love. May add more later, I really only have a vague idea of where this is going to end up at the moment.****  
**  
Prologue: the Reaping

"Castiel Novak?"

Those words. Those two fucking words. That was enough to knock the breath right out of poor Castiel, feeling himself freeze to the spot as any colour he had in the first place drained from his face. His friends stared at him with sympathy, their eyes saying that they'll miss him, his family glanced briefly at him before looking back to the front, unable to process the fact that their son and brother had been picked. Why him, out of everyone else in District Twelve? Why him, when without the added names, it was almost mathematically impossible to pick his? He was dreaming, right? All of this was just some crazy nightmare, and he wouldn't be thrown into an arena with twenty-three other bloodthirsty tributes and expected to kill. Cas would wake up and resume his life in the same everyday mundane routine he wanted so much right now. It wasn't supposed to be like this... It just wasn't fair.

"Castiel? Where are you, dear?"

Those around Cas pushed him forward, no one wanting to deal with authorities trying to scope the guy out right now. Swallowing thickly, his throat burned as he did so, but not from illness or dehydration; from cold, cruel fear.

"Ah, there you are!" The lady at the front chimed, smiling brightly at the terrified boy who was quite literally shaking with fear. Ironic, isn't it? How those at the top of the social hierarchy believe themselves generous whilst robbing the lives of those they consider beneath them. "C'mon, dear! Don't be shy."

Castiel took a long, shaky breath and ran a shuddering hand through his mop of black hair before stepping up onto the stage, looking out upon the hundreds of familiar faces of his District. He'd have to come to terms with the fact that he'd never see any of these people again, and that thought was the one that scared the sixteen year-old most. Being the youngest in a family of he didn't even know how much anymore, Castiel was usually treated as such, but at the same time his brothers would always tell him to seize the opportunities that youth provides and get the hell out of District Twelve. "Run away and end up in the Capitol or something, live a happy life," his brother Michael, the oldest, would say. _I guess he got half his wish… _Cas thought as he glanced at the female tribute from his District; some girl named Meg. He knew her from around town, but they didn't exactly see eye-to-eye.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, the prestige District 1 was staging it's reaping ceremony. Dean was confident enough in the odds that at least Sam wouldn't get picked, but even if he did, he'd gladly volunteer to save his kid brother, even if it meant he was the one getting his throat ripped out. It seemed that even growing up in a luxurious area of the former United States of America couldn't keep one from having a pretty shitty life. His mother had died in a house fire when Dean was a mere four-year-old, leaving him and Sam to basically fend for themselves with a neglectful drunk of a "father."

Green gaze focused on his shoes, absently kicking at a few pebbles with his torn-up runners, Dean half-listened to the lady reading out the name of the male tribute, really only paying attention to whether or not she said "Sam Winchester." The high-pitched sing-song of her voice reached his ear drums, and he breathed a long sigh of relief. He didn't know what the hell she said, but it wasn't Sam's name, so he merely grinned to himself, still focused on the apparent fascination the dirt at his feet carried. Glancing briefly at his brother, who was looking up at him with what looked like shocked fear, Dean furrowed his brow and nudged his shoulder lightly. "Hey, you weren't called, what are you lookin' so worried about, Sammy?" He asked quietly so only he could hear.

"Dean Winchester?" The woman at the front repeated in a questioning tone; one could almost hear the curious eyebrow raise in her voice.

Dean's head shot up instantly, his jaw clenching and eyes blowing huge in a flash of panic. No. No, no, no, _no._ He wouldn't care if he'd have volunteered for Sam, but even though he didn't have to, it seemed fate wanted to be especially cruel to him. His line of sight shot in all directions, just willing someone, _anyone_, to volunteer. Well, anyone except his brother. After nearly a minute of silence, no one daring speak up, the authorities simply grasped him by the arms and quite literally dragged him up to the stage. This was District 1, why in the seventh level of hell wasn't anyone volunteering? As he was lifted to his feet, one of the men draping Dean's arm around his shoulder so he didn't fall backwards due to the hollow numbness he felt soaking into his very soul, he looked at the crowd with dull, glazed eyes. Well, looked _through _the crowd would be a better description, really. He didn't even catch who the female tribute was before he just passed out entirely, waking with a start a few hours later on a speeding train, his head against the glass.


	2. Welcome to the Cult of Dionysus

**A/N: And here we have chapter 1 of this dance. I got a huge rush of ideas for this last night after jerking awake from a nightmare at 5am, and I think I've got it all figured out, which might be a better idea than just making it up as I go. As for my personal life, watched Perks of Being a Wallflower in high school book club today, plus my dad got me Red Dead Redemption and Uncharted 3: game of the year edition (which I'm giving up on playing right now for the sake of writing). The fact that I've got all the major plot points down now will make this a lot easier, and there's a few scenes that you'll all probably hate me for, especially how I plan to end this. Also because I royally suck at chapter titles, I'm just pulling lyrics out of whatever song I happen to be listening to at the moment out of my writing mixtape. Also I just had to include that scene from the movie somehow; you'll know which one I'm talking about later.**

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Cult of Dionysus

Castiel was thrown onto the train before he even had a chance to say his goodbyes. He wasn't all that strong to begin with, but the fact that he was so easily dragged around didn't exactly provoke a feeling of hope for the guy. He had so little of that to begin with, but the reminder that he was from District 12 just meant that no one would sponsor him, and therefore his chances of survival were incredibly slim. Even if he did manage to get passed the first day, Districts 1 through 4 always teamed up, picking the rest of the tributes off before turning on each other.

Slumped in a chair, shoulders hunched in defeat as he absently tugged at the collar of his shirt, Cas dared a hesitant glance up, meeting the eyes of one District 12 representative by the name of Darca.

"Dear, could you _be _any more insecure?" She asked, reaching across to who would soon be her pupil and straightening his posture. "And quit doing that; you won't gain any fans by being shy and quiet. Or maybe you will, depending on how cute you look doing it."

"S-sorry…" Castiel's voice cracked as he dropped his hand from his neck, reaching for a pastry on the table and stuffing it into his mouth. He ate when he was nervous; he'd have to learn to kick that habit before the Games. "I'm just anxious."

"Of course you're anxious!" A voice behind them piped up. Upon turning around in his chair, face still full of comfort food, Cas noticed it belonged to a rather determined looking Meg. "We're all anxious. We're being thrown into an arena with no idea what climate they'll put us in with nothing but the clothes on our backs, told we can't go home until everyone else is dead, and then broadcast to the world as we slit each other's throats."

"Yeah, not helping," Cas mumbled irritably.

"I wasn't trying to help. I know your weakness already, Cassy. It's that little voice at the back of your head that tells you what you can't do."

Cas rolled his eyes, fixing her with an icy glare. "First of all, don't ever call me 'Cassy' again. Second of all, I don't have 'a little voice,' it's called the facts. I know I'm not getting out of this alive, and neither are you."

Darca looked between the two bickering tributes who had graduated from subtle insults to a yelling competition, tilting her head to the side as an idea popped into her mind. Perhaps she could use this; two tributes who can't get along, two opposing forces so resentful of each other, yet needed to keep a perfect balance. Like… An angel and a demon. Coal and fire had been so overused in the costume of District 12 tributes over the years, and a dose of originality would be advantageous to both of them. She jolted suddenly as the slam of a hand on the table snapped her out of her thoughts. "That is _mahogany!_" She hissed at them, making them both stop instantly. "Now sit down, both of you! We're almost there."

With one last snarl at each other, the two teenagers crossed their arms childishly and slunk off to opposite ends of the car, Cas flopping down into a seat by the window and resting his chin in his palm as he looked out. "Goody two-shoes," he heard Meg mutter under her breath. With his free hand, he shot her the middle finger, his gaze never leaving the spot it was focused on before.

A half hour of uncomfortable silence passed between the three passengers before Cas finally noticed the looming shadow of the Capitol through the thick brush of forest trees, perking his head up as if it would help him get a better view. When the city came into view, its spiral towers edging the metropolitan plane, the sunlight hitting the sides of buildings just the right way to make a spark flare up along the side, his eyes widened slowly in wonder, the blue circling his pupils almost seeming to shimmer. He knew the Capitol was advanced, but he never expected it to be quite like this. Even from the outside, it all seemed very overdone, like the designer got drunk one night and drew out plans for a science fiction movie. But as they sped through the streets on a fixed rail, he noticed that those who lived there were just as over-the-top. He thought that Darca had just been dressing for the occasion with her Victorian-style hair, layers of makeup and colourful lace dress that floofed out by three feet, covering her five-inch diamond-studded white heels. It seemed all the women dressed like that; the men somehow dressed just as loudly with variations of brightly coloured suits.

"Welcome to your new home," Darca beamed as she saw the dumbfounded look on Cas's face.

Within minutes, they had stopped in front of the building that held the living and training quarters for all tributes. It seemed that the District 1 car had been late due to a break down on their way there, as it had pulled up to a stop behind theirs as Castiel was climbing out. Glancing back at it, he observed the two tributes getting out, squinting his eyes to get a better look at who he would be up against.

"That one's Dean Winchester," Darca said as she nudged her student. "Apparently he's pretty nasty with a gun. Better watch it if he gets his hands on a ranged weapon." Cas just nodded, watching as Dean shuffled off, scuffing his heels against the ground as he did. Stopping midway, he turned his head and met eyes with Cas for a brief fleeting moment before continuing on his way.


	3. Iron

**A/N: Okay so I apologize if I seem a little scatterbrained in this one. I got about two hours of sleep last night because it was just one of those nights where my brain refused to fall asleep, and sleep deprivation combined with overwork doesn't mix well, considering I just crammed all the studying and homework I had to get done over spring break into today. My English teacher said I have a tendency to change tone when I start to rush, so if I do, just inform me in a PM or review and I'll edit it, because let's be honest here: who actually proofreads? Though I've decided that for chapter titles instead of using song **_**lyrics, **_**I'll take a song that fits the situation/ character mentalities and use that title instead. If I do both Dean and Cas's POV, it'll be a little more difficult and I'll probably just give up and use two. This one's Iron by Woodkid. **

Dean was terrified. Terrified about the concept of dying at sixteen; terrified about it possibly being at the hands of someone younger; terrified about having to do the same himself. In the Hunger Games, it was kill or be killed, and the last thing he wanted to do was drive an arrow into some poor kid's throat for the sake of some bogus tradition. He hadn't uttered a word since the moment he woke up on that train, the only person he made eye contact with being that boy from District 12. He was the only other his age, and he felt overwhelming sympathy for him. What was his name again? Something weird, like Casey or something. Nonetheless, he hated seeing such a smart looking guy in a place like this. If it was one thing the Capitol didn't have remorse for, it was tributes. Doesn't matter if you're a genius; doesn't matter if you're the best damn athlete in the Districts; doesn't matter if you're the one to lead them to great things. If your name is drawn, you're going to the arena. The worst part would be the screams, the helpless looks on peoples' faces. It made him sick.

Meanwhile, a certain Castiel Novak was twice as terrified, and when Castiel Novak was terrified, he acted out.

"What the _fuck_?!" Cas squeaked as a splash of ice water matted up his hair. "Meg!" He complained when he shot his line of sight up to snarl at the accused.

"You were staring off into space again," Meg countered, waving it off casually as she strutted away.

"Can I just kill her off early?" Cas asked wearily, turning to Darca. "It's not like it'd be doing much harm to the 'sophistication' of the Games anyway."

"I hope you were kidding," Darca said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. "Look, I'll be the first to tell you that you two got dealt a bad hand, but try to keep the sarcasm to a minimal here, alright? Those from where you're from have a bad habit of getting shot on sight for insulting the Capitol.

"Besides, you gained a bit of a reputation out there earlier. People are calling you a Fallen Angel." She said with a smile, to which Cas simply sighed and nodded.

During the introduction of the Tributes the day before, Darca had tossed around the idea of making him an angel somehow, only instead of the stereotypical biblical type, more of the hardcore fallen type. "Make him passive and disdainful, but could snap and level the place right down to the foundations if you proke and prod too much," she'd say whilst adjusting every little detail of his stance, correcting his posture and even facial expression. "That grainy voice of his is perfect for that character, too!"

He ended up getting a white tux, only it was all torn-up and his tie was backwards. It was the wings that sold everyone; massive and black as midnight, the feathers scraggly and clipped up, some of them even falling off. Meg was the opposite; made into a demon-type Lolita. It was no doubt that she was beautiful in it, and Cas would've complimented her on it if they weren't forever at odds with each other.

"Reputation won't help me," Castiel said plainly, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm from 12, and therefore I'm the one who gets sought out early on."

"Don't talk like that. Don't forget that we're from the same place, and I won, didn't I? I'm your mentor for the next week."

"It's gonna be one pointless week for you, then."

"You say that like you're already dead."

If Dean was good at one thing, that was marksmanship. He'd been hunting since he was a little kid, and could nail a deer in the eye from twenty yards away. It was no surprise when the first thing he went for in training was a bow, stepping back a few meters from the target. Drawing back the bowstring, a steady concentration in his sharp green eyes, he let go and sent the arrow flying, piercing it in a perfect bull's-eye. Smirking to himself as he relaxed, he stepped back a bit more, one of the others gazing at him with such an arrogance that would indicate a challenge. His eyes made Dean take a double-take. They were yellow… How was that humanly possible?

"Bet you couldn't do it from the back there," he nodded towards the other side of the room.

"You're on, Yellow Eyes," Dean accepted, walking towards the wall with a specific determination in his stride.

"The name's Azazel. Only my friends call me Yellow Eyes. Or was it my enemies? Always get those two mixed up."

"Just shut your mouth and let me shoot," Dean muttered, bringing the bow up again, the side of one foot against the wall. He had the target in focus, just about to let go when Azazel decided to make him jump by suddenly shouting something. A muffled "watch it!" came from one of the others, the arrow very nearly missing her ear.

"Nervous, Winchester?" Azazel said with a twisted grin that sent shudders down Dean's spine. Perhaps it was the eyes, but this guy was seriously creeping him out. With a steely glare, Dean turned to face him, but instead of talking, he simply raised the weapon again and sent off another shot without looking. A second later, the arrowhead pierced wood, having had hit his previous practice shot dead-centre, though he didn't even break eye contact to see it being driven right through the target and to the other side with a loud crack that echoed through the whole room, Tributes turning to look at the source and back at Dean with a newfound respect. The action made Azazel jump himself, upon which Dean flashed him a cocky smile, tilting his head to one side through the beam of his white teeth.

"Nervous, Yellow Eyes?" And with that, he walked off, not waiting for a response. His mentor, Bobby, had been watching this whole time, a criticizing look on his face.

"Don't associate with him. He messes with your head; sometimes I swear that kid's psychic or something just from watching him."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure the alliances I form won't be with _that,_" Dean gestured to Azazel with his bow, though saw behind him that same guy from District 12, gaping at him with something between curiosity and fear glinting in his eyes, a dagger hanging loosely from his fingers.

"Don't form alliances at all, you idjit! That's what gets you killed. How many tributes do I gotta say that to? And do any of them follow my advice? No, because they can't see passed the here and now."

"Yeah, yeah, hang on," Dean nodded in acknowledgment, though wasn't really paying attention. That kid kept catching his eye, and he had a weird urge to talk to him right now. So, pushing passed Bobby, he made his way over, smiling in greeting to him.

"Dean Winchester," he greeted, holding out a hand for him to take.

"C-Castiel Novak," the other boy replied quickly, taking his hand and shaking it. He clearly wasn't so great in the social skills department, but Dean didn't mind so much.

"What District?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. Now that he thought about it, specifically remembering his details seemed a little creepy. "I'm from 1 myself."

"12," Cas piped up, biting down on his bottom lip as he started getting flustered.

"You know, Cas?" At the mention of his name, Castiel looked back up. "I don't know why, but I like you. What say you and I become friends?"

Despite the dangers he knew would arise from this union, Cas nodded hesitantly, awkwardly smiling. "Y-yeah… Friends."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I assume everyone's been keeping up with season 9? UGH the new one though… Never thought I'd have a thing for bloodlust!Dean, so today on I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS INTO THAT: the First Blade messing with Dean's mind again but in a good way I guess because it did lead to Abaddon getting killed? Aaaaannnnnd cue the Winchester brothers' drama! There's not even brotherly love between those two anymore. Anyway, my school started this cool ebook thing online so I'm currently skimming through the Hunger Games series in order to refresh my memory on the details of how Panem works, considering I read the books through public libraries and the only reminder I gave myself before starting this was that I watched the first movie again. No song for this chapter; it's a total filler I'm not even gonna lie.**

The thing about new friendships is that they have a tendency to backfire. At least, that's what Castiel kept telling himself that night to avoid facing the fact that he found Dean quite intriguing. Though who could blame him, really? He had shot an arrow_right through another arrow_without so much as a glance. It was almost a guarantee that whoever had been watching at the time had piqued a particular interest, but he couldn't get the taller boy with the voice that was way too deep for his face out of his mind.

"Sleep," he commanded himself as he rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow and lazily draping one arm over the side. "_Sleeeeep_," came another tired plea, muffled voice altered by a thick yawn.

This dragged on with no success for the next two hours.

"Yep, I'm getting up," Cas announced to no one in particular. "Watch it, guys, Cas is back in town," he rambled, barely coherent, as his brain was only a third working at the moment. Pushing himself up, he kicked the sheets off and ended up toppling over the side in his attempt at moving his legs, hitting the floor with a grunt and a loud crash, followed by a drawn-out groan from the tribute with his face to the hardwood. "Coordination thy name is Castiel…"

It was another ten minutes before he'd gathered the will to pull himself to his feet, and another ten minutes to convince himself to leave the room. Upon stepping into the main residential floor of District 12, he muttered a "lights fifty percent" and squinted against the sudden assault to his sensitive eyes. Blinking the world back into focus, he made his way over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, holding it open with one hand as he poked his head in. _God, these people like to eat,_he thought as he decided on a bowl of grapes. With a glance over at the door to his room, he wondered if anyone would notice if he just _happened _to slip out and wander around for a while. Of course, he really only had admission to the lobby and this floor, but still, it was better than nothing; he might as well exhaust himself. Popping a few grapes into his mouth, Cas stepped over and into the elevator.

As he began his descent, he came very near to passing out right then and there, his lanky form leaning forward as his eyes slowly shut. When his head hit the glass, he gave a jolt and snapped back awake. "Why?" was the only thing Cas could say to himself at that moment. The fact that he was even doing this right now was beyond him, but a cure for boredom was always appreciated, especially when you were nose-diving right into certain death. Who was he kidding at the lingering hope of winning, anyway? He wasn't strong or athletic; he wasn't a genius or creative; he couldn't even sleep right. Nonetheless, Cas decided that he'd rather not think about that right now, as it was better to enjoy the little time one had left rather than to dwell on what came after death.

Reaching the main floor, he stepped out to be greeted by the muffled sound of people talking. With a curious little squint of his blue eyes, Cas stalked closer to the noise, mindful not to step too heavily lest he be detected. Cautiously peering out from behind a corner, just enough to see the situations at the tone of the voices, he slid down the wall into a sitting position and listened to the drama rise.

"Look, Kevin, I know I put you off, but have you at least _considered _it?" Came a clever British accent. Just by the tone of voice, one could tell he was sly as a fox, and would probably be the one to outsmart everyone else.

"Just… Just leave me for once, Crowley. I don't want anything to do with you, alright?" Kevin's voice was shaky and anxious, and from what Cas had gathered, one of the youngest of them was more stressed out about the Games than he was.

"What's an alliance without a good whiz-kid, huh?" Crowley said, clearly trying to negotiate with the other boy. _Probably already strategizing how to kill this kid in his sleep, _thought Cas, leaning in to eavesdrop more attentively.

"N-no!" Kevin faltered.

"Dean's already on board with this."

"How could he have possibly agreed to that?"

"We're besties," Crowley shrugged. "Think about it, Kev. That guy's from _District 1, _and they win nine times out of ten. He may have associated with that scatterbrained excuse of a tribute that 12 spat out, but he's not stupid enough to possibly team up with him!" Cas's breath hitched in his throat, forcing himself to breathe when he started getting short of oxygen. He heard footsteps from the area adjacent to where Crowley and Kevin were, and upon hearing that rough, deep, familiar voice, he almost instinctively relaxed.

"What's going on here, Crowley?" Dean asked, very similar to an interrogation.

"I'm trying to get Mr. Unreliable Asset here to agree to our terms." Crowley answered, not even seeming phased by the sudden show-up of Dean.

"I never agreed to your terms, either. I can see right through a liar, trust me. How about you leave Kevin here alone? Oh, and if that was Castiel you were just talking about, I would highly recommend you don't speak of him like that."

Crowley laughed at that. "What, have you got the hots for him? Jesus fucking Christ, Dean, I didn't know you were gay." He chuckled.

"Bisexual, actually. But thanks for _almost _getting it right," Dean countered simply, not giving Crowley the luxury of a reply before he took Kevin by the arm and started leading him out, ignoring the angered mutterings from behind him. Cas had to stop just to mouth a silent "_oooohhhh" _before he realized they were heading in his direction.

Thankfully, Dean and Kevin walked right passed him, to which Cas sighed in relief. With a proper check of the temperature of his cheeks, he realized he was blushing. As Dean rounded the corner, he turned briefly and shot Cas a knowing wink, coupled with a toothy grin.


	5. Flightless Bird, American Mouth

**A/N: Hey look, I actually got to writing this one at a decent time. What a foreign concept! Though since I'm streaming Spiderman 2, scrolling through tumblr, reading Homestuck and have a tab open for Catching Fire all at the same time it might take me a little more than an hour and a half to get this typed up and posted. Go figure. I've gotta get this story done before August though, since I'm flying across the world to move to the UAE, and fanfiction is something called illegal over there. Also I think this proves my prior twitter statement about how I can write a five page thesis for why Dean blinked at Cas but if you put me in front of my laptop and say "write this essay" then I bitch and moan about it and probably get like a 30% on it. Regardless, I can do it. We're back to the main plotline now, ((second last chap before the Games start gasp)) so enjoy! Chapter song would be Flightless Bird American Mouth by Iron and Wine.**

So much complexity can be held within a simple gesture. So many things unsaid can be sensed in a dead silence. It was a rather big oxymoron, really. But then again, isn't that what life has in store for all of us? Dean thought so, at least. A wink was all he gave, not quite sure why he did it himself, but there was something else behind it that not even he quite understood. At least, he thought he didn't.

Maybe.

Just a little.

The thought was horrifying; falling for some guy who was going to either (a) get himself killed, (b) kill Dean, or (c) be killed by Dean. No, scratch that. Letter (c) was not an option. He'd already agreed not to kill anyone by his own hands, and thinking of Castiel's blood staining the point of his arrow just made that resolution even more solid. Besides, from what he saw a few nights back, Cas could probably hide out until everyone else was dead. He was so quiet, blending into the shadows like he were one himself, and Dean wouldn't have seen him had he not seen a twitch in the corner of his eye, which was induced by the messy-haired boy's obvious daze of sleep deprivation. Honestly, Cas was falling asleep all through training the next day, but much to his luck, Dean taught him a thing or two about ranged weapons when he found him struggling with a bow.

_ "It's all in your form, Cas," said Dean, grabbing a bow himself and moving to stand beside him. "Try and copy this." He stepped his right foot back behind him, turning it to one side in order to get more range while still keep it flat on the ground. Withdrawing an arrow, he pulled back the bowstring and stood there to show Cas. "Don't yank it back, just pull. It stretches if you do it too fast, and sometimes snaps."_

_ With a nod, Cas tried to replicate Dean's stature, though it wasn't quite up to par. _

_ "Here," Dean stepped over and made a few adjustments to how he held his arms, kicking back his foot a bit more. "There you go, that's perfect."_

_ "This is a little uncomfortable, Dean." Cas informed._

_ "Yeah, when you hold it for long periods of time. Chances are you'll only need it for a few seconds, tops. Now, try shooting at that target." He pointed to a dummy about twelve or so yards away, stepping back so he could watch and correct any mistakes. Sure enough, when Cas let the arrow fly, it hit dead-centre, to which he just stood there all wide-eyes and open mouth, turning to Dean with a smile as bright as the sun. A surge of pride was sent through the taller of them, just like when Sam first learned how to ride a bike, though it felt strangely different from brotherly admiration. _

However, today was different. Today they'd all be tested on their skills, and Dean needed to be on the top of his game if he wanted any sponsors at all. They'd all be rated today, and tomorrow were the interviews before the Games, and then they were sent off to the war zone. Most friendships made here would be rendered obsolete, and those that agreed to an alliance would always be crumbled at the weakest link, their throats being slit the moment their usefulness ended. Perhaps him and Cas would have an alliance… But who was the one who was way too trusting in that situation? Dean figured himself; he couldn't bring himself to harm a pretty face, even if he wanted to. Huh, "pretty". Maybe there was something more to this than meets the eye.

"Dean? Dean!" Bobby's voice pulled him back into the real world only to find himself in the waiting room for evaluation. Right, he was supposed to be going first. "Jesus, boy, you've been starin' at nothing for the last five minutes. They just called you up."

"Shit," Dean hissed under his breath, standing up and running in. When Cas wished him luck on his way, he chuckled a little, waving in acknowledgement.

"Right, first up is Dean Winchester." Announced one of the spectators on his swift arrival. Dean did a polite little nod towards them on the mention of his name, grabbing a bow from the weapons' rack. He could've gone with something more creative, or something that would bring a level of uniqueness to this whole ordeal, but skill ultimately won out in the scoring system.

Taking a deep breath to register some calm, he moved a few things around in order to make a few makeshift obstacles. _Impressions are everything, Dean, _he reminded himself as he stepped back to the back of the room. As he lifted the bow, he made it seem as though he would shoot straight, but instead spun around at the last second and shot at a light fixture above him, sparks falling like electric rain as the glass shattered. The arrow ricocheted perfectly, tearing through air and hitting a bulls-eye. There came a round of applause from those watching, clearly seeing the strategic advantage in this particular skill. _I guess math really did pay off…_

Next of course came the free run, taking a running start and jumping backwards off the edge of a table with a huge surge of force, getting enough air to manage another shot while doing a full 360 midair, landing with a slight roll. Agility was of course one of the major rulings in regards to his score, and it was always nice to show that skill.

A few more flips, jumps and shots later and he was called out again. As he left, he gave a bow and placed the bow back, seeming to visibly relax once he got out, gesturing to Ruby that it was her turn. Something made him stop at Cas, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before leaning in and whispering "good luck, Bright Eyes," before turning and stepping out.

_Blushy and flustered… _

_ Sweaty palms…_

_ Grinning like an idiot… _

_ This is why I don't talk to anyone._


	6. the Shipped Gold Standard

**A/N: See, this is why you don't give me homework I need the internet for. You know what happens? **_**This happens. **_**"Oh, I've got a major social assignment due tomorrow and my dad teaches the class so I really can't screw this up." "Hey tumblr's fucking hilarious today and I haven't watched the Star Trek TOS movies in a while and how about that fic I'm writing someone asked me to update soon!" Anyway, I've been looking forward to writing this one, actually. Funny, I just finished I Can Dig Elvis today and I'm writing through my tears. Gross I just sneezed all over my keyboard. I've slipped a few of my dumb headcanons for Dean and Castiel into this one, including Dean's stage fright. I totally ran out of colour ideas for his tie and went with my school colours. Chapter song would be the Shipped Gold Standard by Fall Out Boy.**

_Interviews. Just have to get through interviews. _Dean gulped at the thought of going onstage, in front of citizens of the Capitol who would be judging him on everything. Cameras weren't so bad; it was live people that traumatized him. Especially when he was the one they came to see. _Kiss your privacy goodbye, Dean-o. _

Regardless, he knew he had to. He knew he had to make a good first impression if he wanted any sponsors at all. Sponsors could mean the difference between life and death, or a life a few more days prolonged, in his case. He just hoped that if he didn't make it, Castiel would. Man, he really had to get that guy out of his head… Getting drowned in make up didn't help his current mindset.

"Could you cool it with the concealer, Stephie?" Dean asked somewhat gruffly, earning himself a light smack upside the head from his stylist.

"No. You need to look good, kiddo." Stephie explained plainly, continuing to bark orders to his design partners to just pick up the pace already on the tweaks they had made to Dean's costume.

"Aw, come on. I'll look like a painted whore!" Dean complained, honestly just wanting to get this whole thing over with. People… Crowds… All watching him… The thought made him shudder.

"Well lucky for you, Mr. Winchester, I happen to be finished." Huffed Stephie, spinning on his heel and walking to retrieve his suit. Dean could've rolled his eyes at how ridiculously _flamboyant _the strut to his step was. If you put him and that celebrity from god knows how long ago—Neil Patrick Harris, if he remembered that name right—in a room together, Neil would seem perfectly heterosexual compared to Stephie. Dean hated him, but he was his stylist, which meant he was stuck with him. Upon his return, Dean had to bite back a scoff. "What do you think?"

Admittedly, it was enticing, if a little over-the-top. Then again, everything in this retched place was a little high on the science fiction scale of things when it came to fashion. Seriously, who the hell gets whiskers implanted into their faces? Crazy people, that's who. It was a sleek gold in dull lighting, and yet when hit by direct light little intricate patterns shimmered on it in a shiny black, like tiny diamonds had been dyed and sewn into the fabric, no doubt to symbolize the wealth of his District. The inner lining was made of some of the finest and softest silk he'd felt on his rough fingers, the colour the exact same jaded green hue that ringed around his pupils.

"Well, go on, then! Put it on," Stephie encouraged in that nasally voice that never failed to drive him up the wall. Through much effort, Dean managed to stifle a snarky remark as he stalked off, drawing a curtain in order to change.

A minute or so later, he emerged, tugging slightly at the royal blue and gold striped tie around his neck in a sort of nervous impulse. Other than the ever slight raise of his shoulders and how he chewed at his bottom lip, Dean looked strikingly handsome. They decided to sleek back his hair for this, even going so far as to throw a little shine into it. Stephie looked on with his weight shifted to one side, a hand on his hip whilst his free one tapped at his chin. "Something missing here… What do you think, Darcy?"

"Oh, so _now_ we're asking for myopinion, are we?" Darcy grumbled under her breath, stepping up to the tribute to get a better look at him. She squinted as she leaned in so closely to his face that Dean could smell her minty breath, which creeped him out a little. "Eyes," she snapped her fingers and pointed to the space in between them, making Dean go cross-eyed. "Not bright enough. We're going for emeralds, not grass." She stepped down and reached for a small vial of clear liquid, gesturing for Dean to sit in a nearby chair.

Complying with her request, Dean questioned what she was going to do. "This." Replied Darcy, lifting his face up by the chin and telling him to keep his eyes as wide as he could. Great. Eye drops. When the glass vial was held just above his right eye, tilting a little to let a drop of the concoction splash onto his cornea, Dean yelped at the sudden burning sensation, which lingered even after blinking rapidly. Though once he opened his eye again, the original dull shade had turned into a glossy, jewel-like sparkle.

"How do you people do this every day?" Dean whined, though Darcy didn't answer nor even acknowledge his question. Instead, she did his other eye, finishing just in time for his name to be called to come on stage.

"Go get 'em, Boy Toy," Stephie slapped his backside as he walked passed, provoking a nervous squeak out of him.

"You know what, Stephie? Go fuck yourself," Dean shot back with a cynical smirk, turning and stepping out of the room.

_Out of the frying pan._

The first thing he was greeted with was a round of applause, overhearing a few whistles and whoops from some of the women in the large gathering. He looked over at the man who would also be a commentator for the Games this year—Richard Roman. People loved making dick jokes about his name, and Dean chuckled a little as he thought of a few of them.

"Dean Winchester," he greeted, his voice edged with barely concealed arrogance. Needless to say, Dean played friendly, shaking his hand before sitting down in the chair opposite him. "First thing's first, how do you like it here?"

_I hate it here and you're all a bunch of hypocrites. _"It's nice, actually. I'm grateful for all the luxury I've been showered in around here."

The interview continued on like this; Dean spilling out the exact opposite of what he thought if only to get publicity. Hey, he may be selling out, but at least he can live a little longer roughing it out this way. The only honest answer he could give was when the topic of love came up.

"So, any lucky girl you want to say something to before we let you go here?" Dick asked.

_Not a girl, per say. _"No…" Dean had to force back his fear of crowds in order to finish his sentence, whether his completion was timid or not. "Not a girl, per say."

That got him mixed feelings; a few sweet "aw"s here and there, contradicted with the occasional groan. When a light shade of scarlet touched his cheeks, the majority of the people, Dick included, lost their surprised expressions in favour of one of the other two sides previously mentioned. Luckily, most of them were on the ally side.

"That's… Incredibly brave of you to admit on live TV, Dean," Dick acknowledged, moving to change up the wording of his question. "Who's the lucky _guy _then?"

Gulping, the blush already on Dean's face flared up and brightened, knowing that Cas was watching while he got all done up. "Uh… It's difficult, because I don't know if he even swings that way. But," he paused to gather up all his courage and look directly in the camera. "It's you, Bright Eyes," he said, half of him hoping that Cas couldn't remember his little nickname that Dean gave him the night before. Little did he know, Cas was currently choking on a sip of water at that knowledge, his design team trying to fluff up the ragged wings that would extend upon his command.

"Oh, I see. Nicknames, eh? Well, whoever Bright Eyes is, I bet he's a lucky guy." Dick waved him off, all smiles and politeness, but Dean could read people, and despite his still aching eyeballs, he could spot the resentment he carried towards him the moment he came out like that.

Well, at least on the last night, he could sleep for as long as he wanted, provided he wasn't late for whatever enclosure they were being thrown in tomorrow. As he pushed passed the others, making his way towards the door, he accidentally shouldered a certain messy-haired boy with bright blue eyes.

"D-Dean…?" Cas cautioned shyly, and although he didn't say anything else, or even got a chance to, Dean could read everything on his face. _"Did you really mean that?"_

Holding up a hand to silence him, Dean shook his head with a regretful sigh, muttering a barely audible "forget it." Before making a beeline for his quarters. The moment he stepped in, he washed the make up off his face and nearly ripped off his clothes, haphazardly tossing them aside and crashing onto his bed. He knew he should eat, but he just wasn't hungry; not anymore. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell into the warm holds of unconsciousness, staring into jet blackness through a shallow sleep.

_And into the fire._


	7. Go Get Your Gun

**A/N: And like so we start the show. I'll readily admit I procrastinated so much on this chapter that I'm surprised I even got it done at all. I have two endings in mind for this whole fic, and I can't decide at the moment. This could go anywhere at this point, which makes it rather exciting, wouldn't you agree? I had to tear myself away from Life, the Universe and Everything to write this, so I hope you're happy considering that's the third in my favourite book series. I Can't Help Falling In Love With You by Elvis came on while I was listening to some tunes on shuffle today, and I realize that song is forever ruined for me so I listened to Arctic Monkeys instead. I should've known what I signed up for when I started that bloody fic. Hey I know every destiel shipper has read it but still who gave you the right? OH MY GOD go watch this don't even question my judgement it's awesome:** watch?v=hxBxBlSfFEY **Chapter song would be Go Get Your Gun by the Dear Hunter, which is a rather good song for Dean in general, don't you think? **

No matter how much Cas was stressing about this moment over the past week, it still seemed like a distant future. However, standing in a glass casing, waiting for the lift to move and take him that much closer to oblivion, he never expected this moment to come so soon. Darca had left him with an encouraging "you'll do great!" but he could see the mournful glint in her eyes behind all that cheer, which was about as redundant as saying "the first rule of the Hunger Games is to have fun and be yourself." Yeah, sure, he'd do great. Oh, don't mind him, just bleeding out on the ground with an arrow sticking up through his chest but he'll do great! Despite fearing for his life right now, his mind kept going back to none other than Dean. Dean, who had taken a liking to him even after the blatant obviousness of his uselessness in strategic situations. Dean, who taught him how to shoot when he couldn't even raise a bow. Dean, who confessed his love for him, of all people, on live TV, nonetheless. Maybe it was just a publicity stunt… They'd never had an openly gay—bisexual—tribute before, and that would definitely earn him points as far as support was concerned. People liked controversial aspects of personality around here, mostly because they could without much fear, and therefore if those they were sending to their deaths for no more purpose than entertainment had that element incorporated into theirs, all the better, right?

"I don't wanna go…" Castiel mouthed hopelessly as he leaned his head against the glass. However, no amount of remorse or self-pity could get him out of this one. That was only confirmed when the lift started moving, and with every inch it did, Cas could feel his death looming closer and closer. About halfway up or so, a blast of freezing air hit him, and he could only hope that the arena wasn't full of what he thought it was. But as the platform stopped at the exact second all the others' did, his suspicions were proven.

Snow.

Ice.

Wind.

General cold.

Out of all the things it could've been, it had to be snow. It couldn't have been a tropical beach or a meadow; it had to be winter fucking wonderland. With a look behind his shoulder, Cas spotted a pine forest, and knew that would be his first destination. He couldn't survive the bloodbath of the first day, even if he tried. Looking back towards the golden horn that held provisions vital for survival, he spotted a long, silver dagger among them. Maybe if he could just channel all his energy in a dead sprint, he might be able to snag it… He had ten seconds yet.

9.

He looked around at all the other tributes, recalling their names and districts as his line of sight made it's way along the line. Dean and Abaddon, District 1. Crowley and Jo, District 2. Kevin and Pamela, District 3. Luce and Anna, District 4. Adam and Lisa, District 5.

8.

Alistair and Jody, District 6. Garth and Bela, District 7. Azazel and Krissy, District 8. Samandriel and Charlie, District 9. Chuck and Naomi, District 10.

7.

Ash and Jessica, District 11. And finally, Castiel and Meg, District 12.

6.

Cas swallowed thickly, clenching and unclenching his fists as he counted down the seconds in his head in synch to that of the steady ticking.

5.

Out of some subconscious cry for help, his sights focused on Dean, and found that the taller boy was staring right back at him.

4.

_Breathe, Cas. Breathe… _

3.

Shaken inhale, just as if not more shaken exhale. Repeat.

2.

Proceed to question whether or not one should even try with the odds so stacked against them.

1.

Some odd mix of adrenaline and panic settled in, and what happened next was mostly a hazy blur. People tripped over themselves to scramble to the supplies and weapons, and those who were unfortunate enough to be the ones to fall would meet a rather unfortunate end. Cas stood frozen in a dilemma as to whether or not he should make a run for it or go for the knife, and eventually decided the latter. It was surprisingly easier than he thought to get most of the way, as most of the Careers were busy with others, not too concerned about what a guy from District 12 could do.

However, far-fetched hopes tend have a far-fetched chance of working out. At least as far as Abaddon was concerned, as it seemed as though her arm decided to collide with his jaw while still at full-sprint, knocking him stunned to the ground. Poor Castiel was still seeing stars when she stomped her foot down on his throat, painfully cutting off his airways. No matter how much he struggled, clawed at thin air or kicked at nothing, her heel only seemed to dig deeper into his windpipe. A few strangled gasps escaped him, but the only thing he couldn't stop thinking was _oh god, this is it… _

And it certainly felt like the end. That was until an arrow whipped through the air and made its home right through Abaddon's skull, killing her on impact as yet another canon roared in the distance. Before Cas could get his bearings on the situation, he was being pulled to his feet, only to be yanked down again as a throwing knife targeted the pair of them. A yelp sounded from his saviour, and with a jolt of realization he recognized the voice as none other than Dean's, who was cupping his right ear with a cringe on his face. Without a word of exchange, he snagged Cas by the cuff of his sleeve and ran off, dragging him along towards the trees.

They had managed to stumble out of the war raging behind them unscathed save for that Dean had the top half of his ear clipped off, which was now bleeding down the side of his face in a metallic crimson river. Neither of them spoke until they were almost guaranteed to be far from any of the others, to which they both stopped to fall back against the rough bark of the trees behind them, panting to regain their breath. It took Cas a little longer than Dean, his throat burning with ever intake of oxygen, but he eventually managed to get a grip on himself.

"That was…" Dean paused to swallow, talking between breaths. "Intense."

At his massive understatement, Cas couldn't help but chuckle a little under his breath, looking up to see a bright smile plastered onto his friend's face despite their situation. Something about the way his eyes crinkled at the sides, or perhaps how his smile was so lopsided and dorky that it brought out his shiny white teeth made him blush, though the contrast of pink to his pale complexion was so miniscule that it was hardly noticeable.

"Thanks for… Saving my life back there," Castiel said gratefully, all the while gingerly rubbing at the bruise forming on his neck.

"Don't mention it, Bright Eyes," Dean waved the matter off casually with a shake of his head. There was that nickname again… 'Bright Eyes.' It was said so matter-of-factly, like the blue around Cas's pupils was some sort of universal truth when in fact they were about as dull and flat in normal lighting as anyone else's. Well, except for Azazel's, but that was the result of a chemical spill directly into his eyeballs, which actually gave him better eyesight, believe it or not.

"Hey, Dean?" He asked, finally having regained his normal breathing pattern. This question had been nagging at him ever since last night, and he just had to get it out.

"Huh?"

"Did you really mean it? Or was it just a publicity stunt?" He didn't know why, but something about the concept of it being a grab for sponsorship made a numb feeling of hurt throb at the pit of his stomach, and seeing Dean tense up and awkwardly kick at the ground made his mind shoot in all sorts of directions looking for the real meaning of it all.

"Let's not discuss this right now, Cas. We've still gotta find ourselves some shelter, after all." Dean replied, narrowly avoiding answering his companion's question.

"Wait, so we're a team?" Castiel blinked confusedly, wary as to where he placed his trust in something like this. Even with Dean, he had to be careful.

"If you want. If your answer is yes, follow me. If no, walk in the opposite direction." With that, Dean spun around and started hiking up the slight slope, trudging through the heavy snow. Cas stood there for a second, weighing his choices. If he followed, he would either have to watch Dean die, kill him himself when the time came, or vise versa. Then again, there was strength in numbers, and he could really use a friend right now…

When he looked back, Dean was out of sight, though his tracks were still clearly visible. He made a mental note to teach him about discreetness before running off after him.


	8. Undone

**A/N: Jesus fucking Christ… I need a moment. I need several moments. Perhaps a day. Or a week. Maybe a month. Finales more like no and WHEN I SAID I WANTED DEAN TO LIVE THAT WAS NOT WHAT I FUCKING MEANT. Also I actually had to make a list full of all the tributes in this and then cross them out as they die so I can keep track of everything. I got vaccinations yesterday for when I move so I'm all loopy and exhausted from the side effects so I'm just typing away while I watch Game of Thrones. Yo I chose an ending ehehehehe and all the minor little plot devices too yay. This chapter song's Undone by Weezer, only you really gotta think about the meaning I'm putting behind the lyrics in this context while you listen to it.**

A look back at ocean blue eyes, a kick at a few loose branches, and a peer into the barely-noticeable cave brought a victorious grin to Dean's face. "C'mon, Cassy," he beckoned, gesturing for Cas to follow as he ducked inside the low-hanging roof.

"Don't call me Ca…." Castiel began to protest, though if he was perfectly honest with himself, it didn't necessarily feel _wrong _for Dean to call him that. In fact, it felt a lot better than when everyone else said it purely for the purpose of annoying him. It was almost like that nickname was waiting for the right person to use. But just because someone had such a bright smile that it made him melt inside did not mean he was gay. He simply noticed a lot, and that's it. Sure, he'd never had a crush on a girl before, per say, but he never noticed much about other guys either. _I'm thinking too much into this. I'm desperate for love, that's gotta be it. _

"You comin'?" Dean called over his shoulder, turning around to offer a hand out to his comrade.

With a hesitant nod, Cas leaned down so he wouldn't hit his head on the entrance as he followed suit. It was a cramped little space, with hardly enough room for both of them to sit, but at least it was a relatively safe shelter. At least, as safe as it could get in the Games. Really, they could be blown out of the sky at any moment in time if the Gamekeepers decided they posed any sort of threat to their regime, but as far as they knew, they were simply trying to get out of this, and not in a body bag. Cas hissed when he automatically stood up straight, driving his head into the hard rock of the roof, which only provoked a laugh from Dean.

"Watch it, Cas," he chuckled, moving to sit down against the cold wall, slightly damp from condensation. There was no snow on the ground in what would presumably become their shelter for what now was the rest of their lives. According to the odds, of course, as they were hugely stacked against them. Cas stepped over his legs in order to find his own spot, from which he could keep an eye on the outside at all times, even going so far as to throw a few twigs and leaves by the opening before doing so, just for extra camouflage. They sat in silence for a while, but it was hard to describe exactly what kind of silence. Usually, a silence was either awkward or not, but this one strangely didn't fall into either of those categories. They both knew that at least one of them should be out gathering food or hunting, but water wasn't much of a concern in a tundra. As far as they knew, anyway. The Capitol just loved pulling tricks such as flesh-eating squirrels or poisoned fruit, so what was to stop them from making something so seemingly available just as deadly? Thinking of all the things that could potentially kill them besides other tributes only brought on the topic.

"How many do you think died out there?" Cas inquired, having been too preoccupied with trying to struggle free from Abaddon at the time to pay attention to his surroundings.

"Uh… I saw Chuck get stabbed, Pamela bit an arrow, Adam lost a fight with Luce, I remember jumping over Ash and Jody, and Alistair and Bela slit each other's throats at the same time." Dean recalled the battle that always raged at the start of every Hunger Games, but he was adamant on not remembering the fact that he killed Abaddon. They got along worse than two teenagers who had one too many after one of them insulted the other, but that didn't change his promise to himself to keep his hands clean. Besides, they were also from the same district, which only made the guilt worse. Castiel only seemed to notice how quiet he was being about the matter, seeing as he had a front row seat to his own near death about an hour ago.

"Who was that girl you shot?" He ventured gently, making it clear in his tone that Dean didn't have to answer if he wasn't comfortable.

Dean cast his sights to the outside world, the light filtering through the branches grazing the right side of his face. He definitely didn't want to talk about it, having always been one to shove everything down to the darkest corners of his mind, hoping to never visit it again. "Abaddon," he answered plainly, gruff voice void of all emotion. "Her and I hated each other, but it doesn't make it any less difficult, especially since I knew her personally." He paused only to give a long, quiet sigh. "But even if I win this somehow, I just threw away any status I had back home with that move. Life'll definitely be different. For me and Sammy."

"Who's Sammy?" Cas asked curiously.

"My little brother," Dean said fondly as he thought about the kid. "I'm about the only family he's got left after mom died in a house fire. I was only four at the time, but I still took care of him. Dad's too drunk for his own good." He flinched at the sound of a canon firing off, gesturing for Cas to look up to see who just died.

"Krissy," Cas shook his head sadly as he pulled his head back inside. Damn shame; she was the youngest out of all of them. "Anyway, back to what you were saying. That's awful, Dean. I'm really sorry you had to go through that."

Dean just waved it off, muttering an "I'm used to it." Looking back at his partner, he continued. "I remember that night; mom always used to say 'angels are watching over you' as she tucked me in at night. Dad promised to take me down to the lake in the morning to play catch, when he was actually a legitimate father. Next thing we all know is that we're watching our home burn to the ground with mom still inside. Dad fell into a downward spiral with the drinking after that, and became so delusional he was convinced someone started it, even though the evidence said that there was a gas leak. I took care of Sam from then on, and I'll do it till the end. The kid's got great potential, and I don't want my father ruining that for him, too." Two more canons went off in the time it took for Dean to speak, and Cas was on top of exactly who had been killed off each time.

"Garth and Naomi. That makes thirteen of us left."

"Another one bites the dust," Dean quoted, actually singing the line the way it was originally said.

"What's killing everyone all of a sudden? The bloodbath is done, right? Everyone left will be searching for food and shelter at this point."

"Who knows? We're safe right now, which is about all I care about." Dean shrugged, though his disdainful expression turned to curiousity when a bird hopped through a small hole in their makeshift barrier, peering up at the two boys inside the cave as it preened its wings. It started squawking out phrases in the voice of the recently deceased Garth, frantic and breathless.

"Oh god, I'm gonna die! Hey, is that a jabberjay? You there, bird!" It repeated this a few times, a few strangled noises in between the words. "Will this get to Charlie? Please get to her… Don't eat the s-" the message ended at that, and the jabberjay hopped about a few more times before jumping out again, followed by the intense stares of Dean and Cas. It pecked about at the ground, ingesting a bit of snow in a search for food. Not a minute later, it began writhing about in pain, thrashing its wings about uselessly, until a dreadful choking noise emitted from the creature, putting it out of its misery once and for all.


End file.
